


The Butcher and the River

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: All Her Daughters [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, GFY, Off-screen Character Death, Other, Slavery, Suicidal Ideation, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2019-01-01 00:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12144795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: She is the Butcher who cut her way through every slave market she encountered. He is the River of the faces of those they've lost.





	1. Screaming Defiance in Fire and Blood

River carefully runs the blade of his knife over Butcher's head, the razor-sharp edge taking off the fine fuzz that's started to grow in since the last time they'd had a moment to tend to themselves. Leaving the sigils inked into her scalp bare and stark black against her pale skin, screaming her defiance and rage and vengeance to a galaxy that rarely understood it.

"We have two more targets before we're expected to return with the last report." Butcher is studying the datapad in her lap while River finishes his part of their ritual. She'd already shaved him clean, and made sure the inks were ready for whatever he wanted next. "There's a smuggler's moon between here and the first, if we deviate half a parsec from the most direct route. There are some reports on it being a haven for slavers as well as smugglers."

Cleaning the knife in the bowl already scattered with short black hairs, River glances over Butcher's shoulder, studying the information she has up. "We should check the accuracy of those reports. It would be good to tell our Masters that there is no competition for them there, wouldn't it?"

He can see Butcher's smile reflected in the glossy surface of the datapad, and returns it before he reaches for a towel to dry the knife.

The datapad is set aside along with the knife and the bowl is emptied and rinsed before it's refilled, while River lays out larger towels, laying on his stomach as Butcher sets the bowl and the ink next to him.

"Across my left hip this time." He doesn't need to see her nod to know she's acknowledged the instruction. Soon the first point of pressure becomes flame under his skin, as she presses the ink into his skin with the Force.

Faces in stark black and white inks, more peaceful in this memorial than they often were when they found them. Bodies left behind, and never given the honor of pyre or burial. Clones, natural borns of all species. Those who were murdered by Separatists or by the Republic or by slavers who had no intention of simply letting valuable cargo go.

River falls asleep to the soothing burn of Butcher's work, trusting her to keep first watch, and to wake him for his own when it's time.

* * *

They've been on their current extended mission for three months, and River's back is covered with faces when they return to base, the information they've sent back in coded bursts used to give the GAR an advantage.

It also let the GAR see the message they've made in blood and fire across a swath of planets, and neither River nor Butcher give any resistance when Commander Tree orders them to surrender their weapons, and has them stripped to their skin to make sure they're not hiding anything.

Let their brothers and sisters see. Let their Masters see their message, perhaps understand it.

They're given cells next to each other, though Mouse quietly reminds Tree there's little point in keeping a pair of them separated. They're never truly apart.

_There's little point in locking us in cells. The Masters will want us destroyed, when they know who left them those presents._

River can hear Butcher laugh, her amusement edged and barbed.

_If they even care. They could have stopped us a month ago, two, if they cared. Perhaps our brothers might have, but what can they do when their Masters do nothing?_

When no one comes to take them from Commander Tree's custody, whether to send them back to Kamino to be dissected or simply to be executed, their thoughts run bitter. Was their message too little for anyone to notice against the carnage of the war?

Their hair is long enough to tickle the tops of their ears when a Jedi comes to the base. When Commander Tree brings the Skywalker down to see them in their cells. Long enough to hide Butcher's screams and River's scars.

They stand silent and patient as the Skywalker frowns, looking at them.

"Why?"

It is the only word the Skywalker speaks, and River huffs, shaking his head before he turns away. Strips the shirt from his back, and lets ink speak for him. What more reason does he need?

"Give me a razor, and I will show you, Skywalker." Butcher's voice is strung just this side of breaking under strain, her emotions coiled too tightly for there to be anything but danger in her promise.

The Skywalker doesn't respond, though River can feel his gaze on his back. The Jedi walks away, instead, though he doesn't leave the base. Not yet. River doesn't know what he does, but Butcher is certain that he hasn't left.

Three days, and Watch comes down with Boom and vibrocutters, the sort that never could manage a close enough shave for either River or Butcher.

"That is not a razor." Butcher's voice is flat.

"Can't give you anything else to cut your hair, vod." Watch tries to smile, and River hears a snarl from Butcher.

"I am _not_ your vod." The slap of an open palm against the wall shivers through the air, and River reaches up to rest his hand against the wall dividing him from Butcher. "Mine is in there, and I have no other."

Boom looks hurt for a moment before she smooths her expression, reaching out a hand to rest it on Watch's shoulder briefly. "Fine. You can use what we can give you, or you can forgo shaving."

In the end, Butcher concedes, though she grumbles constantly in the back of River's mind as she frees her head of unwanted hair. Lets the symbols they'd learned on their first extended mission see air again, the screams heavy in the air.

River calls out to Watch before they can leave, asking if he could make use of the vibrocutter. Glad to let his own scalp breathe, though he knows there will be fuzz again tomorrow or the day after. Stubble catches at his fingers, and he grimaces before turning to return the cutters.

The Skywalker comes back down with Tree after Watch and Boom are gone, and he looks at Butcher for only a brief moment before he waves a hand, the energy barriers of the front of their cells falling.

"And where do we go from here, Skywalker?" River doesn't step out of the cell. "Do we die?"

"You come with me." Skywalker looks at River, blue eyes burning cold as space, and River can feel the swell of icy satisfaction from Butcher at this pronouncement, one he matches.

Someone has heard them.

* * *

_There's none so wise to the rise of the River  
The Butcher's out there tonight_

River closes his eyes as Butcher rests her hands on his temples, the physical contact helping as she slides along their bond, and into the back of his mind, wrapping him in the same sort of shields she keeps on her own mind. Once his stolen bucket is on, no one will be able to tell him from any of the faceless and disposable slaves they send out to die for them. No Master will look twice at him.

_They won't see until it's too late. Even Skywalker didn't hear us._

Butcher's frustrated rage feeds his own, and River has to take a deep breath and force his hands to stop shaking.

_He listened long enough to give us this chance._

River opens his eyes, meeting Butcher's gaze steadily, and reaches up to cradle her face between his hands. Leaning in to rest his forehead against hers, breathing falling into familiar synch. Calming them both enough to reach for the rest of their stolen gear, armor and tunics and cloak.

Just another clone commander and Jedi, ignored by everyone around them as they take a speeder through the skylanes, as they land in the speeder bay of one building. Ignored as they make their way to the highest floors, and the cloying shadows that feel like the dens of slavers.

Ignored when they leave, and make their way to the next building, and the next, timed visits that avoid the worst Master, who bought lives just to throw them away like nothing more than droids made flesh. Packages hidden carefully, wrapped in shielding that will write their message bright across the surface of the city.

They discard their disguises once they return to where they began, wrapping themselves instead in the familiar dark browns and grays of their usual gear. Finding the highest and best place to watch from, fingers laced together as they look across the lower parts of the city to the buildings that rise out of the Senate Sector at their targets.

 _Hear us._ Butcher's voice is a whisper, but it is enough, a pulse through the Force to set off all the bombs as one, fire blossoming out into the fading light of dusk.

* * *

"No one important died." Butcher can feel the horror that statement elicits from the people on the other side of the wall, watching and listening on their monitors. Can see the frustrated confusion in the Force swirling about her interrogator. And still, they aren't actually listening. "No innocents were in those rooms. No new faces for River's skin."

"The Supreme Chancellor was in his office when you set off those bombs." The Jedi is watching her with an expression more serene than what he feels.

Butcher nods. "Just one more slaver with blood on his hands and heart."

She can feel River's tired frustration in a solid knot at the back of her mind. Wondering if those who've imprisoned them are going to ask anything new, or do them the favor of putting them in front of a firing squad. If they won’t listen to their words, maybe they’ll listen to their deaths.


	2. Not Yet the General

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butcher and River find themselves in a time not their own, and meet a young Anakin Skywalker.

The star charts say they're near Tatooine.

Butcher's sense of the Force says something is very wrong, and they cannot be near Tatooine. Not the Tatooine they know.

"Take us down. There." Butcher taps a finger lightly on the holo of the planet, near one of the settlements, her eyes unfocused. "We need to go there."

"Do you know what is there?" River is already heading for the cockpit to set the new flight plan.

"No." Butcher follows him, shutting down the small holo table with a flick of the Force. "I'm not actually sure where we are. No matter what the star charts say."

When they land, their eyes tell them what the star charts say and what the Force screams is wrong. They loop scarves around their heads to hide their faces and their shaved scalps, leaving behind armor in favor of formless robes to walk to the settlement. Just two more unremarkable sentients who are ignored and nameless in the crowd when they step from the desert to the streets.

Butcher follows a whisper of possibility, her shoulders tight with the wrongness of the Force, the feeling like a storm is brewing, but has yet to break. Stepping into a dusty little shop where a blond boy is perched on a counter with a part in his lap, cleaning it. Watching the shop, when he should be playing or at lessons.

The boy looks up from his work, a cheerful smile on his face. "Hello. What are you looking for?"

River meets Butcher's gaze a moment, swiftly signing rather than speak aloud. //I'll speak?// There is something about the boy that is familiar, something that screams of caution and rage alike in the Force, and Butcher nods.

"We're not looking for a something." River goes over to the counter, crouching so he's not hovering above the boy. "Who owns this shop, little one?"

The boy's sunny smile fades a little, his brow furrowing a moment. "Watto. My mom and I work for him."

"You work, so young?" River is a knot of tension in the back of Butcher's mind, and she shifts, loosening her favored knives in their sheaths. Waiting for a sign she needs to use them.

The boy shrugs. "Watto isn't going to feed me if I don't."

"And where is this Watto?"

There isn't a response from the boy, only a wary glance between them. Butcher shakes her head, turning from the counter and the boy to the doorway that leads out the back of the shop.

"What's your name, little one?" River is trying to keep the boy focused on him, keep him safely in the front of the shop while Butcher does what needs done.

"Anakin."

The name is familiar, and Butcher draws a swift breath, connecting name and the screaming in the Force. Skywalker. And just a child, when he should be a man full-grown, and a general besides.

A feral smile crosses Butcher's face, and she steps through the door, reaching out into the Force to locate any other sentients in the junkyard behind the shop. It takes only a moment to find two, one stationary one in a sheltered room, and the other moving among the heaps of scrap.

She checks the moving one first, finding a woman who is a mirror to Butcher's own face, though the lines and careworn nature of her face remind Butcher more of Wrath or Lake than anyone else.

The stationary one is a Toydarian - Watto - half asleep until she steps into the office. Looking up with a grumble for having not been told their was a customer.

"I'm not a customer." Butcher unwinds her scarf, letting the loops rest around her shoulders. "I am the Butcher of the Slave Markets. I am here for the Skywalkers."

Watto snorts, rolling his eyes. "They are not for sale."

"I didn't say I would purchase them." Butcher draws her knives, reaching for the Force to keep Watto in place as she stalks closer. There will be blood for the sands tonight.


End file.
